


In Dreams, a Scar

by GordonFrost (Blue_Eyes)



Series: Like Deja Vu [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), ouat
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Modern AU, Neverland Husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Eyes/pseuds/GordonFrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just Peter's luck, having his first three classes with the cleverly silent one. Well, at least the guy wasn't a bad sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impressionable//Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

> There were a lot of Modern AU headcanons thrown around between yesterday and today and I couldn't bring myself to ignore them. I ditched my laundry for this and now I find myself in too deep, making it a series I have plans for. We'll see how well I hold to actually finishing it.

It wasn’t a very bright morning for Peter. Not literally, of course. The sun was bright as it could be during a happy Winter day. It was actually the act of having to wake up and get ready to make an impression. He absolutely despised the first week of a new school. He liked knowing his way around buildings without having to ask for directions; he didn’t know anyone.  All he knew were his classroom numbers. The badly drawn map didn’t help him. There wasn’t another option.

He stopped a shorter, blonde boy with a slight case of buck teeth. It was almost endearing in a child losing a tooth kind of way. “Do you know where room 116 is?”

“That’s Ms. Blanchard,” the kid spoke with a lisp. “Just down hall and there’s a left—never mind, I’ll take you,” he grinned.

“I’m new here. Not quite sure of my way around, yet.” Peter followed the short boy down the fairly busy hallway. People talking to each other near lockers, made out in the middle where other students were pushing their way through. “I’m Peter. What’s your name?” Might as well try to make at least one acquaintance while he had the chance.

“Oh, that’s good! We don’t have a Peter, really. There’s a couple running around but they’re in the lower grade. There’s, like, three Adams, though.” At least he liked talking so Peter didn’t have to come up with small talk. He ended up terrifying people when he attempted small talk. Apparently talking about shadows like they were their own entities put people off. He still wasn’t sure why, exactly. “Oh jeez! And I’m terrible!” The boy stopped in front of a door and turned to shake Peter’s hand. Peter gave his palm a fist bump instead of a shake. “Ha! You’re good. Anyway, my name is Nibs. Well, my nick, anyway.”

“Let me guess, you nibble, right? Like a rabbit.” Peter cringed hoping he didn’t offend Nibs. Some were really sensitive about any case of buck teeth.

“Yup!” Nibs didn’t seem to mind. Just kept smiling. “Since I was a baby. Since I could eat crackers, anyway.” He held both hands up to his mouth, holding onto an imaginary cracker. “Just nibble nibble nibble,” he awkwardly laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

Peter decided he wouldn’t mind associating with the kid. He really didn’t act like a teenager, keeping his youth. That was a good quality he liked to see in people. “Are you in the same class?” Peter pointed to the door.

“Third period. My friend Titus, we call him Tootles, he’s sitting in there.  He told me yesterday about the three Adams thing.”

“Maybe I’ll get to talking with him.”

“He has cool stories. Well, I go with him every morning to this class, might run into you again. It was nice to meet you, Peter.”

“Yeah, see you around, Nibs.” The boy excitedly saluted and skipped off into a fast walk to his own classroom. Peter stood there for a second with his eyebrow raised. Strange kid Nibs, but strange was his crowd. Peter hefted his messenger bag higher onto his shoulder and entered the classroom as the bell rang. There were less students in the desks than he expected. And the teacher, Ms. Blanchard, looked young. She probably wasn’t young at all. It would be the first teacher Peter had that could actually pull off the innocent smile and a perfect pixie cut. Actually, she fit a kindergarten teacher stereotype, so what the hell was she doing teaching a bunch of stupid teenagers?

She was probably just a literature nerd with an inkling for teaching others the art of literature and the ways of a corrupt and complex language. English. Peter wished he could just go back home and sleep, but the teacher eagerly waved him over. He had been seen. Great, an introduction.

“Most of us have introduced ourselves the past couple of days, but we have a new student!”

Most of the people leaned back in their desks, fidgeting with pens and paper, some looking at him with boredom, but one had his head hanging down and stared intently at an open book. Peter could only see his skinny arms and a head of blonde curls. And then he remembered he had to introduce himself. He plastered on a grin (obviously fake) and proceeded with the required name, hobbies, and where he was from. “Name’s Peter! I moved to Storybrooke from Traverse Town, and I enjoy everything artistic.” Straight and to the point. If they expected more, someone was going to have to bribe him with ice cream.

“Artistic! Really?” Ms. Blanchard gasped with interest. “You know, there’s an art club starting up next week. I have a pamphlet for the clubs?”

Peter smiled and clasped his hands together in front of him. “I’ll get it after class.”

“Great! And for seating,” she looked around the aisles, “you can sit next to Felix. The one who is reading instead of paying attention,” she spoke a little louder trying to get the boy’s attention. It was the one with the short curly hair. Oh man, Peter was going to love this class. He was told to sit next to the obvious introvert. He wouldn’t have to speak, and maybe later in the year when group projects came around, they’d work together to get it done. At least, Peter hoped that’s how it would go.

This Felix guy was still an obvious introvert. Peter had no doubt about that. He nodded at Ms. Blanchard and sat in the empty seat to Felix’s right. Peter caught his glance after getting comfortable. Not a bad sight, if he was being honest. From the side, Peter could make out strong cheekbones and the trace of a scar near stormy green eyes. The scar curved down the boy’s cheek. Still not a bad sight to look at. It added character and a mystery.

Maybe it was from child abuse or it could have been from a gang fight. It was impolite to ask, so Peter was content with not knowing the answer. It wasn’t the scar that intrigued him anyway. What intrigued Peter was the fact that Felix kept glancing at him, staring a bit too long before going back to his pages. Ms. Blanchard’s teaching just became a white noise mumble under the silent gaze. Peter took notes on Felix instead of lecture and what homework they would have coming up, if they were even going to be assigned any homework soon. A plus to him for not listening. He could always pick it up from Nibs’ friend. But he also couldn’t tell just from looking which student was a Titus, nicknamed Tootles.

It seemed like five minutes had passed when the end of class signal rang out and students hurriedly ran off. Peter hesitantly left Felix who was still reading his book, and went to get the clubs pamphlet from Ms. Blanchard. “Peter! I hope your first class wasn’t boring. You seemed pretty interested.”

Her smiled grated on his nerves for some reason. Was she always going to be this happy-go-lucky? He just shrugged in response, not really sure how to say he was more interested in a boy. “I think I can adapt. Assignments during the first week of school was unheard of. I’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will. And any student in here would volunteer to catch you up on the rules and share the outline of what I’ll be teaching over the course of the semester.”

Peter felt the looming shadow beside him. Felix wasn’t just thin, he was tall, too. Lanky. Gangly. He had the body that stereotypically tripped over air all the time. He only stood there next to Peter, quiet, unmoving. Peter accurately interpreted the oh-so-subtle hint. “Felix already offered.”

She didn’t even bat an eyelash. “That’s wonderful! He can get you caught up. Oh!” She opened a drawer and pulled out a little booklet. “These are all the clubs starting within the next couple weeks and what rooms, days, etcetera.”

He didn’t plan on attending art club. The art he was interested in wasn’t the type people held a club meeting about. He showed gratitude for the information, anyway and she smiled as they exited. Peter unfolded his schedule, but Felix snatched it right out of his grasp. Quiet _and_ quick. “I need that,” he feigned upset. “I just got that schedule! I don’t have it memorized, yet.”

Felix walked in front of him, not bothering to see if Peter was following. He was, of course. He really didn’t have his schedule memorized, so he assumed Felix was guiding him to his next class. Which he was. And another class which they had together. Felix sat down and Peter took the desk behind him, then Felix moved to sit behind Peter instead. Peter turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Felix. Felix’s eyes widened before narrowing almost instantly. Staring intensely, almost confused or curious. Peter felt like a puzzle Felix was trying to solve in their first hours of meeting. Peter didn’t have that quick of a solution, though.

“Do I get that back,” he pointed to his printed list of classes. Felix didn’t speak a word as he folded it and slipped the square into his back pocket. “No, then. This is wonderful,” Peter nodded sarcastically and faced the front of the room again. And that’s how Peter spent another hour not paying attention because of a burning hole in the back of his head. And another, because it was just his luck to have the first three classes with the cleverly silent one.

Oh, but he was the _luckiest!_ Peter tried to get the schedule back at the end of his third class and Felix continued to refuse without talking. “Don’t you have other classes?” Felix slowed down to walk right next to Peter. Then it clicked. “Lunch? Are you kidding! We have _lunch_ together?” It was nice to spend this much time with a pretty face, but there had to be a punchline somewhere. Peter never got this lucky. Ever. He sighed and pulled his lunch out from the messenger bag. “I don’t need to buy lunch.”

Peter thought he saw the blonde nod. Once, and barely. He saw it, though. Such a miniscule detail; most others probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Felix probably brought his own lunch, as well, because he kept walking out the school doors and only stopped when a hidden corner came into sight. Peter assumed it was nearer to the back of the building, barren and empty. It wasn’t as marked up as the other paths around the school were. There was a long concrete block to sit on, but Peter found himself crowded against the wall, the taller form looking down at him. “I know you.”

“Wow, he speaks!” Peter over-exaggerated the tone of shock. “Deeper than I expected, I’ll admit.”

“I’ve seen your face before.”

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me for three and a half hours? I was hoping to impress someone on my first day, but really—“

Felix growled low. “You are a joker. This is not a joke.”

Peter dropped his arm lamely to his side, loosening his grip on his lunch bag. “You’re actually serious.”

“Deadly,” Felix immediately added.

“If that’s a pick-up line—“ _it was working_. Because Peter had unique features. People that knew him when he was a baby still managed to recognize him after years of not seeing him. He hadn’t been told he was a familiar face, or that they’d thought they had seen him before. He didn’t look like someone else people knew.

Felix lightly punched the concrete above Peter. He closed his eyes and hung his head. Clenched teeth. Three and a half hours and Peter had already caused someone frustration, and possibly some kind of emotional trauma? But Felix whispered, “Pan” and Peter’s impressionable façade fell flat.

His eyebrows pulled together and his eyes darkened. “How do you know that?” His voice also noticeably dropped.

“Dreams,” he shrugged. “It’s weird—“

“Déjà vu.” Like they had known each other for years. He’d never connected with someone so fast. It was near impossible to be spot on about interpreting stares and finite actions into the correct words unless he had known someone his entire life, and even then there was something missed now and again. “I can’t return the sentiment. I will honestly say I haven’t seen your face, except…” Felix finally opened his eyes and Peter didn’t look away. He lifted his left hand, aiming to lightly brush over the scar. He retracted when Felix leaned back. “Apologies! Sorry, that was ignorant.”

They were left in an awkward moment; Peter only knowing the scar and Felix trying to figure out how he knew Peter. “Caught off-guard,” Felix broke the silent thought processes.

Peter swallowed. It was time for a subject change. “Do we have other classes together?” Felix shook his head. “After school, catch me up so I know what rules to break?”

“Work.”

“Bookshop?” Felix nodded. Really wasn’t a man of many words. Peter let out a “hm” sound and decided to study the cracked patterns of the pavement.

Felix sat on the makeshift concrete bench first. Peter followed. Felix only took out an orange for his lunch. Peter put half his sandwich on Felix’s knee with a glance that said “eat it or die” and Felix didn’t refuse. He ate it slow, like he needed to make it last. It was a little sad to watch.

Felix was focused on his last bite of the sandwich and spoke quietly, deep. Peter almost didn’t catch it. “Come over after work?” He casually slid the folded schedule towards Peter. He opened it up and saw handwritten, turn by turn directions to get to, presumably, his residence. From the address, it was an apartment. “Eight.”

Peter nodded. “I’m there.” Felix left without another word, throwing his orange peel into a nearby garbage before heading back to the main entrance. Whoever Felix was, he knew Peter well enough to know he memorized directions better than anyone else. He remembered passing his second three classrooms on their way to this lunch spot, so he wouldn’t have to ask for directions. Peter knew now Felix did that deliberately.

How strange it was, indeed.

 

 


	2. Challenging//Torn Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’re just dreams, Felix. We’re supposed to belong in our imaginations.”
> 
> “Believe I’m lying. Have a laugh, Pan. But you can’t.”
> 
> “Oh?” He adjusted his shoulders because he couldn’t cross his arms over his chest in the confined space Felix continued to trap him in. “I’ll have a laugh about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mostly written in the early AM so please forgive any problems. It also wasn't supposed to go the way that it did just yet, but it happened. Dumb character muses taking control of the story.

Peter didn’t mind walking the streets at night. There was almost an unanswerable wonder fleeting through his mind on why he would feel perfectly safe and comfortable turning corners he never knew were there. He had only a day in this town with all the time spent unpacking and attending welcoming school meetings. This second day was spent attending classes and dealing with a flattering stare. The time between school’s end and now had only been a few hours; just enough time to unpack a couple more boxes and shower off the dust and ghost crawl of an imaginary spider shock.

Not that he didn’t mind spiders. They had their place, as did all insects, he supposed. However, folding a blanket over his shoulder thinking the string on his shoulder blade was an eight-legged spinning machine had spiked his heart rate. And for the record, he didn’t jump back and mewl like a cat that just had its tail stepped on. Definitely did not make that noise. He got that straight in his mind.

And he definitely did not plan to kill it if it had turned out to be a spider. That’s what a cup and piece of paper were for. He’d save the poor little guy. What insect would want to hole up in the corner of Peter’s bedroom anyway?  

So really, about an hour was wasted by Peter mentally categorizing which insects he would have actually allowed to live in his bedroom; if they had voices to announce they were homeless, that is. He had come to the conclusion that only lady bugs and those roley-poley things could stay. Peter always loved watching them curl up for hiding. Oh, and maybe beetles, too. But just two, and only if it was for honeymoon purposes.

He had an overactive imagination when he was younger, okay? These thoughts were the reason why he wasn’t very good at small talk. He almost couldn’t believe he was still thinking about insects as he strolled down the well-lit sidewalk.

Nearly there, anyway. Only a couple more turns and he’d be standing at the grand square of land Felix was renting; the place Felix might call home. For a moment, there was a faint alarm going off because he was willingly going to the apartment of someone he had just met. Three and half hours of exchanged glances and jade stares. String all their spoken words together and it probably wouldn’t even be five minutes long. But he shrugged it off, routine doubt people were taught to be aware of when it wasn’t always the case, and kept going until he was in the complex’s parking area.

“Moment of truth,” he mumbled under the breeze. There it was. The tan door with a plaque reading “B11”; apartment number. Checking the time, he was ten minutes early and there didn’t seem to be anyone home, yet. That was just an excuse to search under the welcome mat, atop the door for a back-up key. Most people hid one for emergencies.

“Break-ins.”

Peter spun on his heel.

Caught. He didn’t care much for being caught. Peter wanted to play cool, though, and that meant resting his hands on his belt buckle and rolling his shoulders. “Ahh, Felix! I was early. Thought it’d be fun to take a look around.”

The taller boy had no need to respond. Nimble fingers peeked out of the long sleeves just long enough to unlock the door before they were hidden again. Ten points of cute for putting his sleeves over his hands. Peter couldn’t wait to find out if it was simply a quotidian habit or stemmed from a specific emotion like shyness or frustration. Felix’s giant hood hid the answer. “Shoes,” he said, leading with action by slipping his own shoes off and leaving them in the inside corner.

Peter played along. He would’ve gone everywhere barefoot it was allowed. Sometimes he did, regardless.

Felix continued past the entrance and pointed to the left. “Kitchen.” Not much further into the apartment was the main room which didn’t exactly have a theatre set-up. It looked like a large desktop monitor was being used as the television. Probably just the internet, then, Peter assumed. Felix didn’t bother to mention it was the living area. Down the right hallway stemming off from the living area was eventually a bathroom, followed by the bedroom. “Bed.”

Well, they were really going to get along if Felix thought the only rooms worthy of explaining were the kitchen and bedroom. Those were Peter’s favorite rooms, too. Being the devious incubus Peter liked to pretend to be, he sauntered over to the bed, slowly setting his messenger bag on the floor and sitting on the corner of the bed with as many extra detailed movements as he could manage without his seduction being too obvious.

He splayed his hands against the soft comforter, leaning back, but keeping his legs more than slightly open. “Comfortable enough.” He smiled and raised a dark eyebrow. “Think I can work with it?”

Felix’s body relaxed with a sigh as he pulled the deep green sweatshirt off from the back. Peter ran a tongue over his bottom lip when he saw a bit of skin show. Felix’s waist was already delectable to him, but the skin underneath, that little slip, was unmarred and fair—skin he’d want to sink his teeth into. Skin he’d kill to bruise, a softness he’d curl his hands into and whisper nothing but darkly tainted words of disgusting beauty into.

Peter jerked out of his mind. There was a stack of papers and books thrown next to him on the bed. “Work with it,” Felix muttered. He could read something about Peter. Just now, he saw something on Peter’s face. Must have. Because a death glare and furrowed brows had never quite looked so inviting. If Peter reached a little farther—

But Felix disappeared from the room. Peter was left to “work with it”. Literally. Who the _hell_ was this guy? Sarcastic in plain sight and so far, perpetually confused and frustrated. Finally, an opponent perfectly matched for his level of mind games. Peter needed to push the limits, find where the boundaries were with the boy. And it would be easy enough to find where he went off, too. Peter snapped photos of each classes teaching outline and classroom rules. He’d get to reading them later. Or never. Whichever didn’t happen. After that, he walked to the kitchen.

“Y’know,” Peter said, opening the refrigerator. Grapes! He pulled the bag out and popped a grape into his mouth. “If I didn’t know better, Felix, I’d say you were the tall, handsome, broody type. Troubled past,” he ate another one, “emotionally stunted. Wandering. _Lost_ ,” Peter emphasized the last word as he hopped to sit on the counter.

“You know better?”

And here Peter was thinking it was going to be a one way conversation. “Honestly, Felix. I’m a little disappointed. Six hours to mull over our little staring contest and you still haven’t accepted me as your superior. Expectations are difficult to meet, these days.”

The other boy fisted his hands. _That’s right_ , Peter thought. _React_.  It was his favorite game, getting a touch for what irked people, how _they_ thought the game should be played. He wanted to be the king of eliciting reactions from everyone. And Felix was all too easy, but how he responded was sure to be different from everyone else.

Peter hadn’t been slapped yet. He awaited the escape of a swear or a slur or telling him to grow up, that he should be more mature. Felix wasn’t going to say any of that. It was interesting that instead of leaving, Felix decided to face Peter’s beast head on. His lanky figure leaned in the corner where the fridge stuck out near the end of the counter, where Peter was sitting, and took a grape for himself.

“You’re a fun one. Complacent.” Peter enjoyed that.

“Explain Pan,” Felix blurted.

Ah, not so complacent afterall. Now it was Peter’s turn to wear the frustrated and _angry_ look. “Tell me how you know, first.” He had left all that behind him, in his past, when he moved here. Pan wasn’t his last name anymore. He made sure to erase any record of it, and anything that could have been used to trace his trail.

“Dreams.”

But that wasn’t anything more than what Felix had said earlier. “What dreams?”

There was a moment of silence he allowed Felix to gather thoughts and words, organize it into a one sentence summary, most likely. The less Felix had to talk, the more comfortable he felt, obviously.

“Week ago. Dreamt of your face.”

“That can’t be all you remember?”

“Filled with dread. Screamed out for _Pan._ Woke up,” he placed a grape in his mouth. For being confused, he sure sounded nonchalant when explaining it.

Premonitions?

No, Peter debunked every single one that had been thrown his way.  

“I can’t help it if my face provokes you.”

“Not a joke,” Felix reminded Peter. He was fighting the irritation boiling underneath the surface. Clenched his teeth and tightened his fists. Peter guessed that Felix was digging his nails into the palms as a point of focus.

Peter studied Felix. He had missed what brought on the deeper frustration. It wasn’t that Peter’s face was familiar, nor the subject of Pan. Felix made that a topic all by himself. No, Peter scraped over something and—

Oh! There it was.

Peter grinned and inwardly trembled with excitement. “Lost,” he quietly said. How simple a word caused Felix obvious heartache.

“Pan.” Growled. Like a warning.

Hazel eyes narrowed, but held onto the grin. It made Peter appear devilish, plotting, innocently dark. “It’s endearing coming from you. Permission granted.”

Felix trapped Peter—no, Pan, he felt more Pan than Peter with Felix—standing between his legs and arms on either side. Pan ran out of comfortable breathing room. “Explain it.”

His ear was going to be bitten off if he didn’t answer seriously.

He didn’t know how to be serious in this situation without being honest. “I don’t know. And I haven’t dreamt of your face or your name. It’s only…” Felix didn’t flinch or back away when Pan lifted his fingers; he didn’t touch the scar, just let his hand hover in front of it. Warmth and pain and magic.

“The scar.”

Pan nodded. “Your scar.” He lightly brushed over it with the index finger and leaned his face closer. Centimeters apart, the boy whispered, “It’s agonizingly beautiful.”

The blonde’s cheeks turned hot, burning red. “I read you.”

“Did it scare you?” False caring. His goal was to scare Felix. He somehow knew Felix wasn’t opposed to having his boundaries prodded in that direction.

“Wanted to tear me apart.”

With bare hands and teeth, achingly sweet words Felix would cling to, drowning in animalistic youth deemed impossible for teenagers to wield. He was feeling ageless, wandering in the thoughts he connected to the scar. Started at the forehead, bumping over the bridge of Felix’s nose and curved down his right cheek. It was a deep cut to leave an intense marring.

“I’d swallow you whole if I did. I’m a bit impatient, Felix.”

“You said lost.”

Quick to change the subject. It was hard to pull away with the same wanting undertone in Felix’s words. “I did.” But he pulled away, hand sliding down Felix’s cheek and resting on his own thigh. “What does it mean to you, Felix?”

There was a sigh, starting with one word, but continued as a string of words. “Abandoned. Remaining. Abused. Outcast.”

Not belonging.

The same definition Peter used. Lost was more than simply taking the wrong turn. It was feeling trapped in a bad situation. It was burying yourself in a hole too deep without a ladder. It was being the last one, no one to lean on.

“A way to be found.”

The ice finally melted.

“I belonged. I was home—in the dreams. Wearing different clothes. Trees everywhere. It was you and I, Peter. You and I and a band of mistfits.”  The words were uttered softly, deep and rough. Uncertain. Raw.

He had to read between the lines. The dreams were of him and Felix while also not being him and Felix. An altered version.

“They’re just dreams, Felix. We’re supposed to belong in our imaginations.”

“Believe I’m lying. Have a laugh, _Pan_. But you can’t.”

“Oh?” He adjusted his shoulders because he couldn’t cross his arms over his chest in the confined space Felix continued to trap him in. “I’ll have a laugh about it.”

“No. You won’t.” Felix pointed to his scar. “This breaks you into something unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Interpreting my silence as responses shifts your answers into questions.”

Peter set his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line.

“See, Pan? I read you. Those dreams have me more familiar with you than you are of you. The thoughts I find on your face scare me, but not as much as this scares you. Because to you, we just met and I know your moves. In dreams, it was a century more. A hundred years flooded in a solid week that would have stayed dreams until _this_.”

Peter had shifted backward on the counter, head against the cupboard and definitely left with nowhere else to go. “Congratulations! Your wish became a real boy.”

Felix opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. He met Pan’s eyes. “Eat a couple more grapes. Read those guidelines. Sleep on the futon in the room across from mine.”

Sleep? First day meeting and he was allowed to sleepover? But from what had happened so far, this definitely wasn’t their first meeting. Not by a longshot.

Felix stretched up and they were nose to nose. “Tear me apart, Pan. I dare you.”

And then it was over. Felix retraced the steps to his room and Peter exhaled, eyes wide and mind failing to process all the received information at once. That boy threw him for a loop, made him malfunction and changed the rules of his games. In a matter of hours.

If he couldn’t aim for the winning position, he’d start aiming for an equal medal.

The grapes were placed back in the fridge and Peter saw the papers, along with a cord for his phone to charge—how attentive, but how did Felix even—it didn’t matter, but it all sat in the hallway in front of the closed door that was supposed to have a futon in it.

He trekked over with a sigh and opened the door after grabbing the papers. The small room had a side table with a desk lamp on top, the sheeted futon on the floor, and another door hiding a coat closet which held blankets and sheets on the inside shelves. He figured he could use anything as long as he took care of it in the morning.

So, to the faint droning of eclectically alternative music coming from Felix’s room, Peter laid a couple blankets on the futon as extra cushioning, and used most of the others to fluff out a blanket nest, leaving three blankets to actually cover up with. It was all he needed to be completely comfortable.

Papers were next to him and his phone was happily charging. He couldn’t find the concentration to motivate his reading, though. It would take him a while to want to read those outlines because it was extremely important that he knew which rules he was supposed to routinely break, but Felix.

Tall and growling Felix.

Issuing a challenge.

Was it out of confidence? Did Felix believe he could win by remembering details from _dreams?_

 _Nonsense_. Felix wouldn’t get the slip on Pan in a million years. He never lost a challenge.

He closed his eyes to memorize and analyze anything and everything possible. The images kept becoming the cutlass scar and a jade green stare too intense for Pan to properly solve.

Felix was the game. And Peter was determined not to fail.

 


End file.
